as i leave the trucker. hitching out to visit a dear friend. hours long in
the hot sun burning. rides here and there as i get closer. then. a guy
driving a ticket booth stops. riding along. how would you like some work.
my father owns a carnival. i agree.
putting up a kiddie roller coaster. first just three of us. then four. half
way up it needs to be moved a foot over. start over. a fifty foot slide. the
jack flies out and hits a guy in the forehead. bleeding. jacked up. hoisting
heavy pieces of slides into place with a pulley system. the pulley falls
from above. gets caught before it hits the ground. again. something falling
from the sky. something else metal.
working ten. twelve hours a day. setting up. then running the rides open to
close. i leave before it is time to tear down. those who stay get only one
hundred dollars a week. sleep across the seats of a school bus. some hiding
from the law. others trying to earn money to get home. but one guy hasnt
gotten paid in seven weeks and another for two weeks. both since they
started.
the owner is a fat old man with teeth spaced apart. suspenders holding up
his pants. shirt hanging out. three sons. all giving orders. names like
jack. ricky. all like their father. sitting in an air conditioned office
while the others do all the work. they used to call it nigger work. slave
labour. exploitation. but america had forgotten these words. forgotten it
still exists. and these people have lost themselves. because they now
believe they are earning good money for what they do. and because of that
i am helpless to help them. goodbye carnies. time to move on.